


Twin Telepathy or Something Like That

by kinestheticpariah



Series: Variations on Mormonstuck [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cutting, Gen, Implied Incest, Mormonism, Mormonstuck, Past Abuse, Religious Conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 06:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinestheticpariah/pseuds/kinestheticpariah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You and Dave have always had this uncanny ability to tell when the other is distressed. It wakes you up at night sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twin Telepathy or Something Like That

You and Dave have always had this uncanny ability to tell when the other is distressed. It wakes you up at night sometimes.

It wakes you up at night a lot.

And it made you uneasy in church when he was in the bishop’s office while you were in Valiant 11 reading assigned scriptures in dramatic voices that made all the guys laugh and all the girls giggle.

And after you walked into the private dressing room by the baptismal font to find your dad with his hand around your twin’s penis, Dave’s slacks at his ankles, your dad grabbing your hand and pulling you into the tiny room with them and locking the door behind you and suddenly all the times your dad called Dave out of Sunday school made sense…

It’s a million times more intense.

You wake up early in the morning one Saturday. Your dad and stepmother have left a note on your nightstand informing you they’re out and will return in the afternoon. You find a similar note on Dave’s nightstand. But Dave is nowhere to be found in the room you share. And that’s strange.

Dave likes his sleep. Or at least his bed.

He burrows into cool sheets every night to warm them up and wields an old ratty quilt like knight’s armor, or a shield to protect him.

But he’s not there now, and that worries you.

You run down the hall to Roxy’s room, where you hear muffled pop music behind the door. She answers the door in a fluffy pink robe with her hair in curlers, starts to tell you to make it quick because she’s about to go out with friends but then she sees the look on your face and calls you sweetie and asks if you’re okay.

You tell her you can’t find Dave, and she insists he’s probably “just eating or something”, not to worry. But she doesn’t know Dave like you do, and she doesn’t know the shit he’s dealt with. And she’s not allowed to know. You shrug it off and say you’ll check downstairs, and she nods and closes the door, returns to singing loudly and slightly off-key into her hairbrush.

Dave isn’t in the bathroom. You take a quick piss and continue on your way.

He’s not in the game room either.

Rose’s bedroom is right next to the stairs. You knock and, when she answers, ask if she’s seen Dave, if he’s with her, but he isn’t, she’s just woken up, her hair’s a mess and there are dark circles under her eyes. You thank her anyways and run downstairs.

Dave isn’t in the kitchen, or the study, or the living room. You’re worried now. You go to the backyard and sure enough he’s there, curled up in a ball under the patio table, clutching his swiss army knife in bruised fingers, resting his tired, red face in a hand extending from a bloody, cut-up arm.

“Shit.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, got this all under control. We’re in Scouts, I can patch up these cuts as quick as I made ‘em. Shit’s crazy, bro, just woke up and felt like absolute fuckin’ crap y’know. But that’s cool, that’s what I am, fuckin’  _crap_.”

A few years ago you would have argued, you would have told him he’s awesome and rad and your best friend but now you know this is just how he vents. You sit and listen, because it’s all you can really do when he gets like this.

He laughs, a bitter laugh that sounds depressing and painful and ironic and relieving all at the same time. “Y’know there’s actually a lot of goddamn abuse in the Church,” he says. “Bishops and Sunday School teachers fuckin’ up little kids. Jesus wants you for a Sunbeam, let me fuck you up, take all your happy away. Won’t be very Sunbeam-y when I’m done with you, little  _shit_.”

He stops talking and gasps and grips the fabric of his red shirt tightly in his hand and lets out a laugh that becomes a hacking cough that becomes a chuckle. “Joseph Smith fucked little girls. Told ‘em it was for God. Told Emma he was adoptin’ ‘em. Nah, he was just a greedy fucker, wanted to get his false prophetic cock wet.”

He’s quiet. A breeze rustles the leaves in the trees. A bird sings a sad note somewhere.

And finally he speaks again.

“He said he was tryin’ to teach me a lesson, y’know.” He laughs again, that bitter, sarcastic chuckle you’ve heard so many times before. “Said he was showin’ me what actin’ on my homosexual feelings for John would do. Said he hoped it changed my mind. I was fuckin’ ten, I didn’t wanna fuck John, didn’t wanna fuck anyone. Just wanted to cuddle my bro a bit, be his friend, maybe kiss him, maybe on the lips.” He shrugs. “He drew me in, still does. It feels important and I don’t think that a god who cared about me would take me away from love.”

There are tears in your eyes now. You never fuckin’ cry.

Striders never fuckin’ cry.

But here you are, wiping your eyes next to your sobbing mess of a twin.

“I’m broken, Dirk,” he whispers hoarsely. “Fuckin’ used goods.  _Worthless_.”

You can only wrap your arms around him and hope it’s enough.


End file.
